A Spartan in Chaotic
by AustinGamer117
Summary: A fallen star crashes on the continent of Perim, its warlike inhabitants ignorant of what it possesses. What many see as another gift from the gods, but what it holds could trip the fragile balance of the tribes into chaos.
1. Prologue

_Synopsis_ : _A fallen star crashes on the continent of Perim, its warlike inhabitants ignorant of what it possesses. What many see as another gift from the gods, but what it holds could trip the fragile balance of the tribes into chaos._

 **Unknown region of Space**

 **UNSC Standard Calendar: December 12, 2552**

 **UNSC Frigate** _ **Forward Unto Dawn.**_

 _ **28 years after first contact.**_

He exalts then inhales, allowing synthetic oxygen to enter his lungs. A feeling of peace and clarity took over in his mind, something he had not felt since the battle for the Ark. His enhanced brain took in the information as he floated in the empty cryo chamber, devoid of life and the cold silence of pods once filled with people, darkness embracing him except for his helmet lights and the digitized form of his AI partner.

"It's finished." Her voice was a low octave, with a touch of someone from the British Isles on earth. Though she hides it well for an AI construct, the months of them battling the monstrous Covenant has shown the old warrior how she acts, the movements in her body displaying her mood, the way she insults him playfully with a touch of alertness when they were on Halo.

He distanced himself from his thoughts, his attention now towards Cortana.

"It's finished." He joined in the confirmation, the raspy and gravel drawl pierce through the helmet, distilling the quietness between the two. He switched off his lights, admitting the ship's darkness to swallow him whole. He went towards one of the armor racks nearby to permit his weapon to rest. Hearing the sudden _clink_ of the weapon magnetizing, though there was no sound given the exposure of vacuum, his mind recalled the familiarly of it.

It reminded him of something. Something deep inside that he kept down through the fires and trials of fighting.

He is lost.

Not lost in sense of purpose; that was drilled repeatedly during the early years of his training, instilled upon the day he was conscripted into the Spartan Program. Back in an age when Humanity was tearing itself apart across the stars, before contact with aliens that were more sinister and maligned, the purpose of the program was to prevent any world under USNC control to secede, from wreaking humanity grasp on its sister worlds, and to thwart those who use the ideology of separatism to make worlds fall under their yoke of madness and entropy.

What he lost was direction. Where would he go from here if he and Cortana were rescued? Would he return to active duty with his fellow Spartans to continue protecting humanity from itself and the remnants of the Covenant upholding their fanatic faith of exterminating his kind? His mind wonders as he glides towards the sole functioning cryo-pod. The life he once had was gone. The parents who raised him were dead during the war, his home colony burned and sacked, the planet a lifeless husk amongst hundreds, another reminder of the many Covenant's atrocities. The Spartans he fought and bred with were becoming few and far between after the fall of Reach. His original teammates, Blue Team, were probably still out there, fighting timeously against the inevitable, spitting in the face of the alien hordes, never surrendering, never giving in.

Even after all that; the baptism of war, drowning the enemy with his bullets, gore and glim coloring him into one of those demons of old. He has gone through the perils of what the galaxy can throw at him, and survived, but what would that come after? Will he continue his career of fighting, ascent up to the annals of history of the few who sacrificed to save humanity and further to protect it?

"I'll drop a beacon," Cortana spoke, snapping John's daze, climbing into the chamber as she continued.

"But it'll be a while before anyone finds us-years even." She finished, her voice no longer soaked with her cheerfulness, only sorrow and deadness. John lies down his bulky form, the cushions inside the chamber adjusting to his form. They both made eye contact, his burning blue eyes behind its protection meeting the soft velvet of the AI.

"I'll miss you." Her voice creaks with misery, the emotional matrix of her programming peeking through. The drainage of emotions going through her as she watched the chamber close itself left her with a ping of loneliness.

"Wake me up when you need me." He let out his last words, the chamber closing its door, allowing the process of cryo-sleeping to begin. The last recollection was the distraught face of his partner, his friend who been with him since Reach. His body soon began to relax, his eyes becoming weary as the glass in front of him is being covered in frost, obstructing the gloomy AI from his view.

He gave one last breath and let his dreams to embrace him, his warrior soul finally able to rest.

Cortana stared at the pot for a long time, her thought processes discarding the constant alerts flowing thought her systems of the ship's status. The forthcoming ping of the completion of the cryo process did not relieve her of her perusal. At last, she tore away, covering her face with her hands, codes of data streaming down her body.

She released her hands, all thoughts of doubt erased. Soon, determination burns through her core as she began her work for the long-term, her form blinking out. She diligently works through the power systems, shutting off areas that weren't critical, securing off places that were exposed to the darkness of space. She then went deeper into the system, picking off areas of interest such as food processing and mini-manufacturing for critical parts.

Her mind was blazon with ideas, long-term plans for the inevitable of her demise. The deep-searing thought of reaching the seven-year mark torn through her, almost pausing her work before continuing. She berated that thought, no need to let deep-seated fears stymie her work.

She appears on the pedestal again, screens of data along with her. Digital hands dance across, unthinkable to the human eye. She checks off each priority, look over the inventories of weapons, alien and human, armor, parts for John, and drones to help repair the ship.

She looked up from her work, her claim eyes checking her caveman, crusts of frost crisp-crossing the glass, blocking her view. Her eyes quirked and smile as she traversed deeper into the system, discovering a couple of undamaged data centers. She was relieved as she began offloading the immense data banks she had retrieved from her time on halo.

Cortana hum as the data was being transferred. Even though the centers couldn't process all of it, at least it'd postpone her unavoidable descent into rampancy. She winced at that thought as deadness sets over, interrupting her flow before it continued, additional information coming in.

The mere thought of her mind crushing itself, her matrix coming apart, spilling into different personas as her mind worked itself to death, letting lunacy running its course as she burns herself out, sent symbolic chills down her form's spine. If she were organic, she'd had weep at the mere situation, leaving John drifted through endless space, alone with his cryo-chamber as his mausoleum, a forgotten reminder of his deeds and duty.

She wipes away those thoughts. There was no time to let anguish rule the day when their lives were on the line. Cortana checks off final preparations as she prepared to go into hibernation, leaving behind several sections of herself to watch, observe only for any ships that hit the sensor net.

Cortana exhales faux air, sanctioning stresses in her programming to be diluted out, wiped away from her mind. As she began to shut down to join her close friend in the realm of sleep, the ship around her began to lurch, titanium armor buckled and groan if some beast was trying to get in.

She bought up the sensor net, her eyes flared and crinkled as she stared what the sensor picked up; against the backdrop of a class-m star, an aurora of colors splitting as it rises up, revealing what was putting the ship. The star's rays wiping away shadows, wisps of it displacing as it reveals the culprit. A mass array of land appeared before her, marshes of green crisscrossed with parch deserts along with large bodies of water.

' _An uninhabitable planet? We may get out of this yet.'_ She gave a flicker of a smile, typing away as new orders were given, lines of new code entering into the system. She accesses John's cryo-chamber, starting the unfreezing process, her auto receivers catching the hiss of gas.

John's eyes shot open, his armor systems coming online, his body resuscitated as the chamber's door open upwards. Alertness took hold as the lack of gravity made him float, his helmet nearly hitting the glass, but took control, making his way towards his AI partner.

"What happened?" Chief asked, concern laced with his professionalism, his right hand gripping the edges of Cortana's pedestal. The AI swivel on her feet, popping up the screen showcasing what the sensors detected. His eyes peel over it, taking in the discovery.

"Is it inhabitable?" He queried, but she shakes her head, an undeniable no.

"I haven't picked up any radio nor comms traffic. The planet is completely quiet." The Dawn groan once again, metal twisting against itself.

"How long do we have?" Chief said, blood pumping faster through his veins as the ship gave another rumble. He sent a look towards her, waiting for an answer. Cortana pulls up another screen then closed it.

"About thirty-nine minutes at the most. The ship is already entering its orbit. I've locked down the motor pool, armory, and many of the areas that aren't severely damaged." Several screens pop up, blue fingers tap away as the chief watched.

"Where will we land?" He asked again, trepidation clipping away at him.

Cortana put on a reassuring smile on the big lunkhead.

"My calculations and projections showed that the ship will most likely crash in the north of the largest continent, possible in the heavily-forest regions." She reviews another screen, this one broadcasting in real time from one of the few aft cameras, panning out to catch the growing orb of life, inching closer and closer.

"Will the ship survive the impact?" The question hangs in the air as John pulled Cortana's chip from the pedestal, her human avatar wrinkling out. He calmly inserted her chip into the port on the back of his helmet, allowing her artificial essence to claim her place inside his mind, tendrils of her existence being put in place, allowing her to indulge into memories of old.

"If it can survive the ark, it sure can survive a bumpy impact." She said, mirth lacing with her charming persona. The pretty officer rolled his eyes as he disabled the magnetic clams to his feet, permitting him to free float.

"I've lockdown the observation deck. It should offer better protection in case the ship takes a bitter beating. We should head over and buckled down, and inspect where we are once we land." She piped in, setting up schematics on his hub, pinpointing hallways that allowed the quickest access to the area of question. John places his hand on the lone plinth and, with a great effort of strength, propelling himself towards the opening portal to the hallway, letting himself to be basked in demonized lighting from the automated emergency alarms before they were shut off by Cortana. He floated near the walls to allow him to traverse the impending darkness of the ship.

The ship gave another bucking tear of metal as he entered another hallway, his weary eyes catching an elevator on the left wall. His ears ward off the sound as Cortana wirelessly started the lift, the hatch in front of him seating off as the floor below began to ascent.

The old soldier gave a tired sign, preparing for another level to jump through before reaching the bastion of safely. Death by ship crashing wasn't something he wants his fellow surviving Spartans or superiors to remember him by; he already experienced the malignant breath of death looming over him many times, and he will not allow this moment to be his finale.

The answer he got back was the cloven of the ship's hull and his own breath as the elevator finally stop.

 _ **Planet Tiria**_

 _ **Continent of Perim**_

 _ **Age of Narggon**_

 _ **Lake Ken-I-Po**_

To the unsuspecting traveler from the Underworld who manages to roam across the dangerous, scorching under cavern of Everrain, its flora being nourished by glowing mushrooms long adapted to the dark, and the lake above providing constant refreshment, right before trying to hike through the various cavernous passageways to the surface, each one more convoluted and dangerous than each other, they'll witnessed one of the few spectacles in Perim, eyes gleaming in fascination before raging envy takes hold, eating away at them until nothing more than rage and hollow loathing, shouting curses to the colorful sky at their dreaded enemy.

To the credulous traveler from the Overworld, one must ride on a makeshift raft to reach the other side of a tumultuous river in the Riverlands, passed the pernicious jagged slopes and rock embankments that could end a shore live, bringing upon another carrion of flesh to be feast about by predators in an unforgiving land. Once there, he or she must navigate the various bristles of jungles clinging to the myriad of tributaries as their lifeblood. Nerves will be assaulted by the chorus of monsters that lived there, lurking amidst the dense foliage, but the prize that awaits them at the end of the road will be succinct; their eyes sparkling as they behold what came from the sky they were born under. Vast swathes of vivid auroras drenched the sky with its luminous touch, finger-length columns of color trailing behind. Waves of crystal water clash against pearl-color beaches, splashing dew onto the tallgrass, obstructing what lay beneath.

To the travelers of Perim, this was a sight worth remembering until death itself came knocking, but to the lone dweller living in a lone castle, its gloomy structure perch on the largest of thumb-shaped rocks in the lake, bespeaking itself towards all, it was an everyday occurrence to his life of solitary and isolation.

"Mmmmm…"

Sitting in his cotton-bound chair amongst troves of scrolls, tomes, and worn out maps, some even lifting in the air, indigo coloring their borders as they lay still, waiting until their turn, sat the most powerful mugic user that ever lived, Najarin. Legends and rumors have been spoken of this man, a man that bear witnessed the dawn of civilization, the erection of Kiru city by several Overworld tribes against the aggression from the giants to the west, and the fall of the city's first leader which bears his name, progenitor of the current leader whose belligerence towards any overworlder is enough to sunder the earth with blood.

Rumors persisted on what his true origins lay. Some speak of him as a guardian of the elusive Cothica, warning off and misdirecting any who seek it. A rumor that led to many creatures to come and foolishly challenged him for the secrets he holds, but all failed, either swept away from the waves or now dust in the wind. Other rumors say that he took part in several historical events or, to the paranoid, manipulate them, such as the disappearance of the Giants and the various mugic-related catastrophes that plagued the land ever since.

The ancient mugician sighed in annoyance, his clockwork mind ticking by conjoined with his thoughts, ideas quickly sum up and then somber away, lock away and the key throw away; he has been at this for hours, peering through lines of text, ancient languages long extinct that only he can translate. Beyond the realm of his desk lied his liberty. Thousands up thousands of books lay at his hands, each tome holding secrets that even himself haven't discovered since inhabiting the castle. Each one telling a story about Perim, some before the invention of the writing process, many about deep cultures beyond the continent, and several about the advanced arts of mugic, some that could bring untold destruction.

But yet, this was not what concerns him of this moment, despite his bibliophile being considered one of the few privations he held dearly, other than nutrition and the company of someone in his bed, what concerns him were the visions he has received over the past few days.

The visions he received from the auroras in the past were sometimes random; some concerning the balance of mugic itself, some towards the political instability that could lead to dreadful harm to all of Perim. But recently, the visions were worse, more precise in each one. Some were so acute that he woke up, eyes traumatized, red blood seeping from them while his hands were soaked with mugic-infused sweat.

The visions tell the same story, every one of them clear and horrifying; distinctions of a creature, clad in armor with the hue of green, crested atop mountains of corpses, bodies of Underworlder, Overworlder, Mipedian, and Danian alike, all meshed together with their ichor funneling into the earth. In the background was Kiru City, burning to the ground. Its walls were torn asunder. Wisps of black smoke billowing from the buildings becoming nothing more than stabs of blackening ruin. Maxxor's castle overlooking the doomed city, destroy with nothing more than the clunks of its foundations and steps connecting to it.

Najarin ground out another migraine as the scroll in front of him hold no answer. He has been at this for hours, barring no visitations from the few contacts he has in wider Perim. He scrolled through every book, scroll, document, and reports from previous life givers about any new creature sightings, anything that yields the closest resemblance to this unknown being.

Sadly, nothing bear fruit to his endeavors. The immense archives of his home, for the first time, provided no answers to him, only numb silence and the fiery sounds of the last of his candles as they reached their climax. Najarin pinched his nose as the darkness invaded the room. With a snap of his right hand, fury tongue-shape embers blossom anew, depleted wax reappearing where they were as if they were never lit in the first place.

Najarin slouched in his chair, letting his head lolled about, trying to let his mind a moment of charity and flush the amount of mental detritus before continuing on with his search.

' _Perhaps a little break would suit me just fine. No need for this old mind to waste away to exhaustion._ ' He thought. After letting his body to rest a little from bending over his desk, he sits up, hearing the creaks and groans from his wooden companion in these hours. With a brink of his eyes, the candles blew out and the door towards the foyer opens, letting in a bask of light. The literature used in his research soon returned to their original arraignments, sliding back as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him without looking back.

He hiked through the numerous sections of stairs, through the labyrinthine hallways only him can pass without difficulty, and the mountainous ascent towards the top of the castle after requiring the necessary ingredients for this brew along with porcelain and cutlery cups, following right beside him. A long time ago, each step would have required an extraordinary effort of will, courage, and determination. It was not just a physical but mental, a test to his mind and intellect, a deeper communion to the winds of mugic flowing through the physical world. It was a test that he aced many times in his life, but entropy and age were soon getting to him. His feet ached with soreness, the steps themselves felt even longer as he clambered upwards.

Relief pumped through his lungs, letting it out as he finally reached his inner sanctum. Not wanting to waste any more of his energies for today, he simply unlocks the door with his free hand. Hearing the familiar * _click*_ , he let a trace line of a smile appeared on his lips, obfuscated by his hoary, silvery beard. The room he entered was one of the few in the castle that offers him peace. If the laboratories beneath him were considered asylum for his genius and the alchemy rooms his craftiness, then the top was to deem his peace and restfulness. It was nothing special; only a desk on the left of the room with a bookcase behind it. A bottle of link stood there, unhindered, and ready to use. Right next was a pile of paper stack neatly, blank as the day they were created. He pays no mind as he meanders towards the outdoor balcony, flinging it open as he prepared his tea. To speed up the process, he led his mugic to do the work. Najarin consent another smile from his lips, hearing the all familiar machination of tea-making. The cape attached to him flickers as it caught the wind in its grasp, the saline smell from the lake hitting him like a torrent.

He set upon the lone setup of chairs and one table in front of him. Settling down the tea that was just finishing, curls of sizzling gases rise from the cup, its boiling contents bubbling before fixing it to an acceptable temperature for his taste buds. He pops his back a couple of times, slouching into the chair, feeling the comfortably of the material against him. He inhales and exhales, allowing the fresh, humid air entered his lungs, away from the dust and claustrophobia. A whirl of his hand later, the teacup was lifted up, its fragile white surface stood in great contrast to the auroras in the great distance. A myriad of colors flashes and bathe against his eyes from above as he moves his precious tea towards his quenched lips, ready to consume the soothing flavor of ragghior berries to help tempter his tiredness.

But it was not meant to be; as soon as the rim of his cup reached his craggy lips, he felt a string in the air, a vibration. He paused, ears perking up as the string turned to a slight tremble, enough to cause his tea to oscillate, some of it patting on his clothing. Light cerulean eyes darted all over looking for the source.

' _What in the name of the Cothica is th…'_

 **Whoop**

Najarin's eyes widen as a thunderclap of untold proportions pierced his ears. The windows behind him rattled in a continuous rhythm, spider webs crisscross their surface. The slight tumble from before soon became an earthquake, becoming so great that even that the cup in Najarin's hand loosen, breaking apart upon impact on the ground, spittle the liquid across the old mugician feet.

Amassing the mental strength to fight pass the heavy tremors, Najarin gaze towards the stars, searching for answers to what is causing this. What he got instead would forever haunt his dreams and thread his nightmares, burning into the very retina of his mind.

Like an angry hand from a vengeful god, it fell through the sky like a hammer. To the ignorant, this would seem like any ordinary comet passing through the stars, an omen foreshadowing of a good or ill time, but to an intellectual like Najarin who spend years studying the stars and the numerous objects gazing across the sky, this was no comet.

It was colored red, of blood and angry, as it descended. Chunks and pieces spit apart from it, the smallest burn up instantly while some of the medium-size ones stay close to the larger one. Najarin's knees shudder for the first time, fearful eyes glued to the unimaginable object heading towards Perim. The hackles of his skin swell as the caricature of the auroras was brushed aside by this thing. Flames scorched the colors of the sky, becoming a haze of hatred and reminiscent of burning villages. The object soon streaks overhead over his castle, not close to hitting but close enough to let Najarin's skin be touch by its scorching skin. Najarin's heart pulsated, blood pumping faster in his veins. His lips moved soundlessly, thoughts trying to convey words, but the astonishment of what he is seeing couldn't slip past description in his own words.

But what steals his attention the most before it passed overhead his home, scurrying away from his eyes, were tiny sparks of blue stars amidst the red sea of flames on it. Each star splutters on its own, burning out and then relighting as if it never went out.

To the mystical and arithmetic mind of Najarin, it was if the monstrous rock was _slowing_ down, pulling back from being kill upon impact. The mere thought of it being self-aware radiate fright in his own bones, legs wobbling in dread. The intensity of the conflagration in the sky it left behind was drying down, colors from the auroras reclaiming their place amongst the stars, but the burning object still remains.

Snapping out of his daze of fear, he uses his mugic to propel himself towards the tallest top of his tower, relishing in the chill air to wipe away the sweats from his arms. Once there, landing with a small thud on the circular platform, the object was still there, flames still burning, not receding as it trails over the blue yonder. Najarin observe it further it before it passes over the hulking mountains to the north, fixated and calculating on where it will land.

The answer gushed up from his heated brain, numbness jolting down his nerves as it finally hit him; studying the wide curvature of the sky, along with the speed and direction of impact, it would land in the Forest of Life, a long stretch of verdant and lush forest, seeping with the most concentration of mugic in the Overworld.

He could imagine it now what would become of the sacred forest. Tongue-shape flames engulfing large swaths of green, wiping away its majesty, plant life turning brown and scrunching in an ash of oblivion. Creature and animal alike washed in pain-spitting red as the canopy of the sky turned violent, expectorating death as the source of the calamity nears collision. The earth heaving, spewing the ground upwards, dirt specking what remains before submitting for the final time. The acidic flames producing inky smoke to block the true carnage layered behind.

The thought sent shudders down to his very soul, terror resurging through the constant pounding of his heartbeats and the ringing of his eardrums. The fiery object disappears over the mountains in the distance, hollow booms still breaching, but losing its deafening vim as it crisscrossed the sky. The haze of angry discordant ebb away, the source of its power receding from Najarin's view. The area around him soon returns to its original color and harmony, the feeling of dread and death gone from the air.

Yet, the resumption of calm did not wipe away at what the lone mugician just saw; this was a once in a life event, unrecorded by any of the four tribes. But the curious side of him did not stop the quaking of his brittle bones, his lithe fingers grasping in the open as if looking for something. Saving what left of his sanely from the bottomless depths of his inquisitive mind, he reaffirmed himself, gathering his thoughts and settling upon his next goal.

The wave of his hand and the flickering of fingers bought trances of mugic coursing his hands, summoning the most precious in his arsenal of mugic weaponry. A thin line of light arose from his hands, releasing what is contained within its collimated bonds. As soon as it appears, it disappeared, leaving behind what its caller desire.

To the simple-minded, what the mugician is carrying looked like a walking stick to upheld him, giving him a look of frailness to the unfamiliar, but this wasn't a simple stick to carry him in his advanced age. Cut and reshaped from one of the few livable trees in Glacier Plains, imbued with potent mugic to survive this long in the frozen wilderness, it was wreathed into the shape it is today and stenciled with hidden runes whose meaning is only known to its master. Its wooden skin smooth without any imperfections, lustrous in the light, showcasing the delicateness and artistry of what Najarin's mind could accomplish. Setting the staff vertical with his left hand while the other waving with sparks of mugic, he muttered another series of invocations, his deep, baritone voice rasping through the hairs of his beard.

With a quick snap of his fingers when the final words of his spell came out, a ball of light engulfed him, blinding and obscuring the area around it, appearing as if part of the aureoles in the sky. It didn't stay on the ground, however. Hovering about a meter, its luminosity pulsating like a candle, propelled across the welkin. Wisps of blue mist dangling behind sprinkle its substance, bright tails of blue, racing through the sky. The blue orb didn't chase the lone object to its destination but instead rode to the north, fear and anxiety driving Najarin from following.

Glancing one last time through the sphere towards his dwindle home, the mugician set out on his quest to warn Maxxor and the rest of Perim, of this dark omen from the heavens.

As Najarin sped away to bring about his warning, beyond the snow-slicked mountains of old, the Forest of Life lit up, heralding what is to come.

Najarin wasn't the lone witness to this furtive phenomenon. Across the wide and width of Perim, across the sultry sands of the Mipedian desert and the colossal edifices of Mount Pillar to the arid plains and the plateaus of Maxxor domain, the attempted landing of the _Forward Unto Dawn_ caught the eyes of many, but most with simple minds dismissed as another cosmic wonder played by the gods. Others, those who delved into darker paths, perceived it as an answer to their macabre rituals and abysmal blood sacrifices to their thirsting gods of old. But to the many, whose grasp of the world around them was the wind blowing in the air, it was seen as a gift, a sign from the gods watching over them. Depending on the circumstance of the witness observing this event, it was to be taken either as a sign of good omens to come or as a messenger of the troubles waiting for the unfortunate.

Whatever it may be to the simple-minded and the craven, the two otherworldly beings aboard their fallen ship prepared for their inevitable landing, bucking down until impact, not knowing that their very presence upon this world changes the static balance, redirecting the course of the proverbial river of destinies that shines many and smothers others.

But beneath the coursing oceans and behind the monumental iron doors of the Deep Mines, an old enemy stirs from its torpor, blazing anger pouring through as its mind reaches beyond what mortals could sense, catching the familiar signs of the dimensions of slipspace beyond the confines of its prison.

Slipspace wasn't just another convoluted field of science for lesser beings to tamper with, but an art form for the superior. Combing through the intricates and indolently of its cerulean waves was child's play to one whose powers can subdue the minds of thousands with a single blast of its mind. Weaving through the chaotic remnants, it finally locates what it was seeking.

Dread and fury pulsed through it as it recognized the signature. Any species that discovered the travels of Slipspace would leave lingering marks before they scathing to the cosmic winds, but what it found sends spasms of telepathic rage through him, causing any of its minions nearby to suffer its indignation, clawing out their eyes in self-inflicted madness.

As the self-perpetrated storm of lunacy subsided within its chamber, it looked upon the effects of what it had caused. One thought burrowed through its thick mind, never ceasing as it ignites, imploding all lines of thought until it became unbearable, the words etching into the very heart of its vindictive soul.

The old enemy has returned.

 _ **Author's note: It's been a while since I posted any on this site, but this idea couldn't get out of my head since I started re-watching Chaotic and playing The Master Chief Collection. I'd like to express to any that have viewed this story with gratitude.**_

 _ **Please leave a review, constructive criticism or positive.**_


	2. Discovery and renew bonds

_**Planet Tiria**_

 _ **Continent of Perim**_

 _ **Age of Narggon**_

 _ **Kiru City**_

Kiru City was unconquerable.

These very words weren't spur from a groggy, inebriated fool in a watering hole proclaiming pride in his own tribe before being pounced upon by surly others in similar states, or from a sneering tribal with embryonic throes of dogmatic fanaticism plundering a settlement of an enemy tribe, it was hard fact.

Situated amidst a series of plateaus and small knolls that stretched across the vast _Norgi_ desert towards the arid plains of _Nogsh_ that borders the myriad of the Overworld's forests, potent in Mugic and abundant in resource, Kiriu City is one of the most heavily-defended cities on the continent. Blessed by few avenues of entrance and provided an unobstructed vision from the massive mounts of rock encircling their home from invasion, the denizens of the capitol, including many past and present rulers, seized upon the natural advantages of their land. A rudimentary series of forts and outposts were constructed over the centuries, each one serving as both an early warning system and base for fighters to harry the enemy to allow the people of Kiru to evacuate.

It withstood a total number of twenty-three sieges, seven invasions, and inscrutable incidents of plague and famine. While the lush land around it transform in brittle sand and roaming dust storms, the city prevailed, its lone citadel jutting from rock, watching, guarding for any that dare entry by conquest and blood like a fretful parent over its children.

But upon the hill were the might and hopes of the Overworld lay, cracks began to warp within, its structures bucking against each other. Worry and dread slipping through like light coming from the mullions. Deceit and secrecy once barred soon came into fruition.

Ensconced in a chair of the highest order sat the lone patriarch of the Overworld. Around the warrior and statesman was his office. The walls and tables furnished with a panoply of items of past glories, items once thought unobtainable now nested amongst his many walls. Skulls of terror breasts orbit around him, their looks contorted in feign rage. A series of sizzles came from the nearby fireplace arranged in the far corner, placing itself as the only source of deferent against the darkness as the windows were all concealed by the curtains, obscuring the muggy light of Tiria's sun.

From his feet to his barrel chest, he was bedaubed in paint. Slithering across his ember legs towards his very face, the tongue-shaped forms etched into his very skin. The man was the maxim when it comes to masculine physique. Muscles taut and powerful dominate his frame, showcasing the years and rigid regiment of obtaining the mantle of leadership of his tribe. Conjecture and prattle ring from the mess halls and taverns, from the awe and lustful lips of patrons, of his capabilities and his searing riposte to many who harm his tribe.

But like all men in his station, he was but a mortal, regardless of his accomplishments, subject to the whim of the few and beloved by the many. Countless times, he was approached by families with coin and learn in influence, proffering their daughters to him like merchants bartering their stock. From the tallness to the shortest, from lithe to ravishing, and from charming to the coquettish, he was offered a substantial amount for him to take and sire heirs.

But he declined each and everyone of them.

As much as he likes to subject himself to the temptations of the flesh, his love for his tribe transcends boundaries, both physical and metaphysical. Like his father and father's father, towards the very first of his family, he protects his tribe from the day he first draws breath to cracking skulls and chitin with a ferocity that'd left those he cares shock, and enemies with boiling rage. To the tribe, they were his family. The men and women under his command were treated as if they were his own flesh and blood. Unlike the Mipedian's inflexible hierarchy of command, the Danian collectivism and aversion to individualism, or the hated Underworlders' single minded steadfastness of smothering the earth in fire, and bludgeoning their enemies into bleeding ruins, the Overworld rely on cohesion and cooperation to get the job done. What the other tribes see as weakness from an enervate tribe, it is the Overworlders greatest forte.

Yet, from what he has heard coming from the person across his desk, that strength would be put to the test.

"This is troubling, old friend. Very troubling, indeed. Thought I'd never doubt you for a second, giving your deeds towards Kiru, but are you absolutely sure that these events are connected?" The inquire matched his personally, bold and devoid of brevity. The words bouncing off across the long-arched walls, allowing the source of his questioning to hear his answer.

The man sitting across from Maxxor was tired, haggard, and fraught with exhaustion. The silvering lining upon his beard lost its verve, tussles of hair unkempt and unmanned, poking out in the light from the fireplace. His eyes were bloodshot red, jaded and drained of intellectual promise, replaced with qualm and fright. The color of his skin was to the point of ashen, color receding as if they were wiped away.

Maxxor's guest blink once then twice, ridding his weary eyes of dryness, then spoke gently, fingers gripping around his staff firmly in his lap, as if holding it for dear life.

"What I said is the truth, Maxxor. Upon witnessing this… _monstrously_ , the auroras of the lake plagued me with visions. Even with it careening down from the heavens, I saw what the future lay ahead for Perim. Dark times approaches us, old friend. I do not know when it would come, and that's what scares me the most." Najarin confessed, uncertainty and dread lace with every syllable. It was a rare moment for a powerful mugician such as himself to be totally vague in situations such as this, even given his vast experience, he knew he doesn't have the caliber for this dilemma.

Maxxor clasps his muscle hands together, red eyes, crisscrossed with a tint of black, stare down the hulking appendages. The creasing of his left eyebrow highlights his contemplation, a familiar craft of statesmanship he had come to see as tediously unwelcome for a warrior.

He was a fighter. There was no question to that. From the day he first draw breath in an unforgiving world, he fought his way to the top. He overcome the annual plague that struck the city during his first year of life. It consumed the many, but not him. With a will stronger than the stones of his home, he surmounted it, the fainting blisters upon his back a sign of his first travail. When he took on the task of leading, his younger, hotheaded self didn't realize that guardianship of the tribe would not always result in the spilling of blood. Persuasion, conjuring, and the promise of something more was the battlefield of politics, being scurry away in back rooms from the open fields of combat. 

Deep thought and deliberation wasn't always his strong suit. Though he has temper his antipathy towards the more rigid and tiresome actions of his profession, he'll always favor his warrior roots. But sometimes, forward thinking and musing over fists when comes to leading would provide a boon for his tribe.

Several minutes ensured by, but it pester on endlessly for Najarin, the signs of exhaustion creeping around his mind, his heartbeat anticipating the awaiting response. The tapping from his clotted right foot making the wait jittery for the old man.

But the pause in their meeting was over. Maxxor unfolded his hands and look at Najarin, eyes of a warrior meeting the ones of an intellectual. Even before the leader of the Overworld worded his resolution, the wizard saw in his eyes the answer.

"I'll grant you this request, my friend, but given what is transpiring on the border with the Mipedians claiming over our eastern lands, including Broken Edge, and the disturbances in the south, I cannot lend a large search party in search of this comet." Maxxor held up his hands, writing each and popping his fingers, then continue.

"But, I'm willing to allow one such team, a small one led by Intress." Najarin's eyes lit up at the mention of the name. Though he was never close with some of the prominent Underworlders, Intress was one of the few to earn his trust, and eventually his friendship. She was one of the most skillful and fiercest in the Overworld, an equal to Maxxor. Her fury in combat match only by her strength, able to overpower and fend off many Underworlders. Where she had come from was mere conjecture and speculation, even Najarin himself didn't fully know the details. Whispers spoke of her arrival years during the early reign of Maxxor. Emaciated and the sun burning away her flesh, the Guards on the Ancestor Wall took her in, one of them rumored to be a young Tangath Toborn.

What led down this path would never be known. To the curious who solicited her on details, she bristly, but politely, did not answer, leaving only blank stares and flabbergasted anger. The reasons that drove her into becoming second in command in Maxxor's sizable menagerie of trusted advisers and warriors was a point of consternation for the conservative and the paranoid, but her actions proved her detractors wrong repeatedly.

Najarin spring with new energy, his legs no longer jumpy, the weariness in his bones lifted. Finally, some progress being made into solving this blight of a mystery. Najarin looked upon the warrior with a look of gratitude on his worn features.

"Thank you, Maxxor. I'm relieved this trouble will be finally resolved." A bundle of discrete air passes through his mouth as he sits up. With a short 'thank you' and the shaking of hands, Najarin adjourn, and heads towards his room provided by the castle. A quick succession of snaps from Maxxor signaled the double doors to be open. Guards garb in light blue armor entered before the two, each one clutching a pyro blaster, waiting for further orders.

Najarin parted away, the sound of his staff tapping against the stone floor the only source of his presence. Until the sounds diminish in volume and consistency before finally ebbing away, Maxxor then turned towards one of the guards, eyes renewing themselves from pleasant to hard stone.

"Summon Intress immediately. We've lots to discuss."

 **Unknown Planet**

 **UNSC Standard Calendar: December 13, 2552**

 **1900 hours**

 **Day 1**

 **Grid area A13**

"This is the spot, Chief."

A voice, soft and cultured, speak through the warrior's auditory speakers in his helmet. Hefting one of the last detection beacons off the back of his Warthog, the device weighing down on his gauntlets right before arranging and spiking it into the ground, feeling the slurry ground depressed before the impact. The goopy mess of what was once staid ground stick to the Spartan's feet like mucus, thin blades of foreign yet familiar glass sway languorously as he turned the device on, slowing being picked up by the storm above.

The impending clash landing went better than what the Spartan expected. Once past the bucking and the torture scream of titanium, feeling the heavy G-forces pounding upon him as he held on for dear life, armored hands gripping the railing in the observation deck, distorting the very metal amidst glaring klaxons throwing up twisted and contorted shapes all around him, the impromptu landing by his AI companion heartening his chances of survival. When the anguish of screams from the ship finally passed when the last heaving quake came, Cortana set about assessing the damage wrought about by her genius maneuvering while John himself went about by securing the armory, provoking a snide but friendly comment by his digital ally.

Power throughout the ship was completely restored by the time he arrived. Already, the ship's limited repair bots were diligently alimenting any broken systems and the tax structural integrity of the Drawn with limited resources. Tapping the correct code to enter, the automatic bulk doors give away as he proceeded into the room, his rapid biological enhance eyes taking in the habitual surroundings of his temporary home.

Other than a few warped beyond repair, the majority of the Spartan's arsenal was relatively intact considering what the ship went through. He traipses around the room, inspecting the rows of deadly weaponry that bears the mark of his profession. He went on until coming across the stacks of Covenant weaponry cordially provided by their Elite allies, a species that once drown Humanity's colonies in its own blood, now offering the very tools that butcher billions, scarred colonies, and, in time, their very own.

He examined each crate for any deficiencies or, in the wrong case, defibrate sabotage. If even with the truce with the Arbiter, there were still many with hatred tailing behind them, regardless of necessity in waylaying the Prophets' foolish task of annihilating all life.

Done with his inspection, he popped the lit off one of the crates, exposing the powerful armaments within; Plasma pistols and Rifles, Carbines, even a few full-charged Fuel Rods and Energy Swords. The other crate provided a separate set, some even prominent during the invasion of Reach: Plasma Repeaters, Concussion Rifles, and even a single Plasma Launcher.

He picked up one of the Carbines, experience eyes taking in the smooth metal of its body. The religious markings that once befit itself scorched off, a final defilement from the Elites towards their masters. Wiping a part of it with his covered thumb and index finger, he set it down where it was, repeating the action repeatedly with each weapon until Cortana came through.

"The ship's systems are all green, Chief. The hanger bay is not obstructed by anything outside. You ready to explore our new home, big guy?"

A curve of a smile formed on John's face as he exited the armory, mindset towards establishing a base of operations around the ship and the immediate area until help arrives.

That was about a day ago.

The ship left a trail of destruction all around. Burned trees, churning earth thrown around as if some twister came through. The embers from the fires still burning through the night when he exited, showcasing the fallout left by the Dawn. When his eyes first came upon the foliage of this new world, he was struck by a sense of familiarly. Upon many of the worlds Humanity has colonized within its reach, spouts from its mother world coexist amongst the alien ecosystem encountered once a colony was established in its infancy, but the flora was different, familiar but abnormal. Taking upon himself with one of the few undamaged Warthogs, he was sent to reconnoitered the land, a land of unknown dangers lurking between the pale grass.

"Hey, wake up." A mock ersatz of a hollow knock sounded off in his helmet, cutting off his runaway thoughts, sloppy noises coming from his gait towards the rumbling Warthog.

"Yes." Pulling his hand near the left side of his helmet, his enhanced eyes perusing the glade in a sea of trees, the beacon's light blinking in the background, lighting up shapes all around. Even if it's in the morning, the storm hasn't let up. Dark storms swelled above the warrior's head, rain decanting in torrents upon his metal skin, as if cleansing it away from the muck and grime, purifying him of his sins. The forest stood passively by as the Spartan took in everything.

He headed back towards the Warthog, already drenched in rain, its metal skin giving off a sleek look as water runnel off. As he hopped in the water-proof seat, Cortana answered.

"The grid around the ship is completed. Except for this gloomy weather upon us, everything around the ship is clear." She finished as John revved up his vehicle, its hydrogen-powered engine bellowing in the rain, forward lights shattering way the dippy darkness.

"Any abnormalities?" The Warthog give one more howl of power before heading off, its super-augmented driver returning to dried shelter.

"Other than the natural carwash you are getting, nothing. As you had asked the past five times."

Ever since he stepped foot on this planet, before his boots couldn't even have the chance to imprint itself in alien soil, strange readings coursed through his sensors in his suit. Nothing dangerous to himself, but it was something he or his AI partner couldn't identify in the records. Flecks of this unknown energy materialize around the greenly before diminishing; in some of the areas around the Dawn, hot concentrations of it would leave a certain static in the sensor net.

Chief turn a hard right as he came up towards a new direction, following the map his hub on the shortest route back to the ship. The branches of the trees around him whipping up, shaking up the sprigs as the worst of the storm came to past. Coiled in unrestrained power, flesh flashes of lighting touch the bruised sky, framing a latticework of nature's wrath upon the blister on this world.

The outline shape of the ship came into view. Another stuck of electricity highlighting the sheer dwarfness of the ship over the vast forest, it silent engines sticking out like an affront on this sullen world. If John had any bearing in mysticism before being erased in the name of duty and survival, it was as if the very world was trying to expel this trespasser.

Rugged terrain soon gave way to destroy. The charred earth now turned into a brown, swampy soup of nature's detritus, holes left by uprooted trees long since form into little ponds, gushing outwards onto the already sloppy surface. Chief's warthog speeded by, mud being lobb by war-torn tires. The once pristine olive coating soon gave way to a new color, it being flung around as the Master Chief pressed on.

A groaning of metal heralded one of the ship's few openings. An extended ramp appeared as the Spartan came to stop, another batch of lighting accompanying behind as it touches down. A shaft of light spear away the darkness around the Spartan as he ascended, the growl of the storm becoming more incessant as the ramp closed behind him.

Away from nature's anger, John stepped out, wet feet pattering on the dried floor as he retrieved his weapons from the back of the warthog, its muddy appearance a clear contrast from the ones inside. The hangar around him was huge for its size in a frigate. Even at its height of full operational peak, the Spartan would have heard the clamor of war-machines roaring, sparks of repair tools from both man and machine, the constant chatter of UNSC service men and women performing their duties febrility.

But now, the hangar was cold, desolate, tools put away and the few warthogs tucked in the small motor pool, the two remaining Pelicans suspended pendulously from their docking clamps, secured until they're needed. The filth still partially clung to the Spartan's armor, the refuse dripping large prints on the polished floor.

"You are getting dirt on my ship, John. What did I tell you about playing outside?" A few feet away sat the pedestal that held the source of mock irritation. Luminous like a shaft of moonlight sat the skimming form of Cortana, her two arms crossed as she waited for his excuse, a jabbing smirk on her heart-shaped face.

The super soldier looked back towards his Warthog then to himself, head leaning downwards as if like a child realizing his mistake. His gauntlets and greaves slathered in brown mire, some of it pattering on the sterile surface. The Spartan then twist his head back to his Warthog again, then to himself. After a minute of consideration, he offered his riposte in a way that would seem inconceivable to people below his station, or not delve into the deep intricacies of the Spartan program.

He nonchalantly shrugs.

"I'll clean it up."

Cortana tittered, the faux cadence of vexation wisp away, as the Spartan stride towards the armor disassembled bay. Still mechanical arms whirred into life when they detected his presence. Cortana sprung towards another nearby terminal, observing her Spartan getting into position. Gashed gauntlets and lacerated greaves were the first to be removed, then came the breastplate, the arms groaning by the weight of the multilayer alloy, exposing the onyx armored bodysuit underneath.

The battered helmet was the last to be picked. With the delicate precision that only a machine could perform and the hiss of air, it came off effortless. Hard blue eyes blink in rapid accession before acclimatizing beyond the protective sphere of his visor. The automatic arms carrying the armor pieces whirred once again as they settled the parts on a nearby workplace. Taking one puff of fresh air and exhaling from his perfected olfactory receptors, John hopped off the booth, popping his neck in the process.

"Any changes?" He asked, disking out a washcloth from one of the tables, mopping away the thin sheet of sweat on his pale brow. Cortana rolled her eyes as she appeared again, navy hands hook on her hips.

"As in the last couple of times you asked me, the answer is still the same. This unknown energy is still affecting the forest around us. Both gamma and x-ray radiation are both off the charts from one of the plant samples you took, but there isn't any solid deterioration in the generic level."

The lights in the workshop died down as several charts materialized in front of the Spartan. Lines highlighting predicted points of emission outbreak. Others displaying mathematical calculations while three-dimension profiles of the native plant life circle around, various points of data streaming beside each.

"What am I looking at here?" He asked, wiping away the remnants of sweat on his face.

Cortana groan at the caveman's lack of scientific proclivity. Thought fiercely intelligent over most of humanity given by the vigorous education received by the UNSC, the sweet nectar of blowing things up prove to be more succulent than the dry facts of scientific discovery. Though in his defense, she herself had indulged in the ebullience of destructive purposes through her long journey with the Spartan.

"If only the brightness minds of Humanity could've taught you instead of people who concurred that bullets solve everything, this'd be less difficult." Her voice came out from speakers, her timbre the sound of vexation, but it was not genuine. It was another example of the bond they shared, regardless of the vast difference between them. Humanity's savior and Humanity's creation, their roads leading to the one path that intertwine both, allowing them to surmount the fiercest foes set out against them.

The cresting of a smile appeared on the stone façade of the Spartan. He was well used to her childish scolding, but it was something he found the best in her. The unremitting chatter during their time together was a stark contrast to his interactions to non-Spartans. With the exception of Dr. Halsey and Chief Mendez, the haughty AI proved to be a kindred spirit. Even when her message about the Ark was met with denunciation and slated, he stood by her, proving to even John himself that she was special to him, the same emotion he felt for Blue Team and the many other Spartans under his command.

Cortana's voice broke through his deep muse as another series of charts and drafts surfaced before him.

"The plants on this planet, especially from the _Embryophyte_ tree, are different. Both photosynthesis and nervous system are familiar on the surface when it comes to cell composition, but recent probes deeper have discovered something I didn't expect."

Both the charts and drafts dispersed, permitting only a single image of a cellular cell.

"I've checked, double checked, and there isn't a single reference of this totipotent cell anywhere, not on Earth nor the colonies. Even what is the most interesting of this is that is emanating the same energy we've uncovered earlier."

The Master Chief just stare as the newly-revealed information was digested. The lone rag in his hand long discarded on the workbench, fully transfixed on what this would lead.

After a long moment of silence, with only the quiet humming of the 3D projection, he spoke plainly.

"Is it safe?"

With a flick of her hand, the projection shuts down and she answers.

"Yes, it is. I took samples from our supplies to test its effects on the plant life from a different ecosystem. No ill effects so far. And before you ask; Yes, the atmosphere is not dangerous. So, don't-"

Her words petered off, silence crawling back after a brief relieve. John's eyes were laced with concern, trepidation saturating his mind as the AI stood there, indolent to external activity. He has seen this before; either something caught the AI full attention like this, which it will usually involve him doing something very dangerous to the point of impossibly, or a big discovery for her to fixate her mental processes to uncovered.

"Cortana…" He spoke up, hoping his rough voice would break her out of her quiescent. He felt relieved as she was jolted out of her petrified state, either by the acknowledgment of his voice or finally discovering what coxswain her from their conversation. Artificial eyes twinkled in the light as her processes came about, her brow crinkled in fascination before caning her towards the Spartan.

"Sorry for the worrying back there, John, but one of the recon drones pick up something that might complicate our stay on this planet."

Reprieve flood through the super soldier thoughts like molten lead, feeling the tingling of relaxation lowing his guard, iron discipline settling the concerns about his close friend, but in the end, it was all swept aside when a live video popped before him. The Spartan's countenance was of solid stone as his arithmetic eyes swept across the image, heartbeats thumbing quietly in his chest.

Spread out across the vast land were wooden structures, lazily placed around meadows of cultivated fields, either food or cash crops. Beyond the antique farms was a nearby river, its tributaries breaking off into two separate directions, but each side clustered with buildings, stone replacing wood.

Like the rest of the region, the village was no exception when it comes to the indignation of nature itself. The storm was letting up, a torrent of beige waves crash against the only bridge connecting the other half of the town, foul muck spaying the battered stone. Small granaries with windmills pierce on top buckle under the tumultuous wind, howling like the wolves of old earth.

The Master Chief stare at the live feed, his mind appraising the recent intelligence, sturdy arms crossed as he lingered, eyes barely blinking. After a long while, he finally spoke, a hard edge bespeaking his military background creeping upwards.

"Are they hostile, Cortana?"

The AI paused the feed, staying an image of a central square in the middle of the village, before replying.

"The drone did pick up life signs from the buildings outside of the village apart from the ones huddling near the riverbank. Other than that, it is a simple farming community from the looks of it, Chief." She assured him, but by the tensing of his arms, he still has his doubts. Even if her assumption was right, John would never let his guard down. The years of human rebellion and the cremation of a hundred worlds by a genocidal force that made the very stars themselves bleed with mercy mad even what is to be perceived as peaceful can undoubtedly unleash horrors that could leave mutilation on the soul.

John unclasps his arms, his façade unreadable to the untrained, but not to the superpowered AI.

"I know what you're thinking, John. I highly doubt anyone living there could possible posed a threat towards you, giving the technological level they live in. But to appease that paranoid mind of yours, the village is only seventy miles away from where we are."

"I'm sensing a 'but' in that question." The Spartan said, his dark eyes now turn towards his companion.

Cortana shakes her head. "Even if we isolate ourselves from the natives, it'd only be a matter of time someone finds us. Our crash wasn't exactly subtle in a way."

' _That is true._ ' John thought. The ship blazing through the skies without anyone seeing would have been difficult, impossible even. Hopefully relying on the newly-discovered inhabitants' superstitions would placate any from searching, but he himself would know it will be only a delaying action. Someone will come to investigate, whether they'll be peaceful, or bring fire in their wake.

"You suggesting we make contact?" The question hangs in the air between them, but the Spartan already knew the answer.

Cortana nods her head before speaking.

"Bingo, partner. I know you don't like playing ambassador, but we've no choice in this. The storm outside will recede in the morning. So, I suggest you get some shuteye before we meet our neighbors. I'll be working on fixing your armor." And with that, the projector shuts down, leaving the Spartan shroud in obscurity before the workshop's lights came back.

He left before the starting cacophonous of machinery pronounced itself, his light, padded feet drowned by the noise of Cortana's work, his direction leading him towards the armory on his checkup of ammunition and weaponry. Like all Spartans, John wasn't the one to partake what other people take for granted. He was raised and trained by the fierce Chief Mendez, educated by the intelligent Dr. Halsey, lest his duty falters in the face of war, losing what fragments he has left of his previous self. Deep down, he still kept his promise to Johnson, one of the few that truly earn his camaraderie, that he'll keep Cortana safe, a lasting shard of humanity he has within him.

Passing the last of the hallways leading to his destination, John stood at the entrance. Punching in the password on the keypad next to the gun-metal door, it swooped open, revealing the perfectly stacked weaponry, both human and alien alike. Huffing up the familiarly of scented oil, he went about with his check up, his mind in a state of tranquil as he hefted one of the assault rifles nearby. The Spartan felt the smooth metal under his palm as he cross-examines it, scrutinizing any deformities on its surface. Contented with its condition, he walks over to a nearby table and begins the process of taking it apart, but even before his fingers touch the barrel, his hand took the direction of the nearby intercom system.

"Cortana, would you please play Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_."

########

 _ **Planet Tiria**_

 _ **Continent of Perim**_

 _ **Age of Narggon**_

 _ **Pouril Village**_

 _ **Day 2**_

She could smell it all. Laughter and jeers crowd around her as she pondered her next step. The table she currently resides was old, splinters of wood protrude outwards and dried remnants of past occupants marred it like an oversoaked sponge, revealing what transpired through the essence of smell. It was her many talents under her liege's service. When sound and perception fail, it was the smell that accomplishes it. She can tell a lot by what is jostling in the air, a thousand aromas and flavors of various kinds overwhelm her senses, but her experience of tracking prevented the odorous tang from striking her throat and gagging on its contents.

Fires burned in the background, waxing up a foggy haze in the inn. The pungent taste and scent of succulent food hitting her at all sides, a ligneous bowl sits in front of her, pieces of overcooked beef idly stirring in the acerbic muck, but she longed lost her appetite.

A soft appendage touches her shoulder, her sharp claws unfolding. Expecting one of the patrons to pathetically come woo the tigress, she glanced over her shoulder to dissuade the intruder with a harsh stare. Instead, vehement eyes softened upon recognizing who came to her.

"Intress, Attacat and Lomma are back." Annoyance recoiled from her mind, relief flooding in to replace it. The barking of laughter around her creased its shimmering importance as she stood up from her seating, turning her body to face her foster daughter.

Garb in a suit of light-fitted armor, she stood amongst the many in the tavern. The fires around glistening off her cerise skin. An elegant lotcoth parted between her legs, highlighting the intricate runes of her home tribe on her legs, inching down towards her greaves. Apart from her stomach area, her torso is completely donned in the finest armor she bought with her on this mission. Long two strands of braided hair reached down her lithe back, presenting her beauty to all. Some of the nearby creatures cast eyes towards them, some with leering gleams, but the two women pay no mind, their attention focus elsewhere.

"Have they found anything along the main road to the forest?" Her student chews on her multicolored lip, but she gave her an answer.

"No, Intress. The road is safe. Lomma said that there aren't any roaming bandits or tribeless along the route, but…" Aivenna lips paused, trying to filter the words to her mentor.

"But what?" Intress was baffle. This wasn't like her apprentice to stutter words like this.

Recomposing herself, the young elvish girl continued.

"Lomma reported sawing several _Rardao_ herds passing through the forest. She and Attacat weren't spotted by any of them, but given its migration period for them, our journey will be complicated."

Complicated is an understatement. _Rardaos_ were considered to be one of the fiercest animals on the _Norgi_. Large, lumbering beasts adorn with spikes and festoon in fur that matches the land, with teeth sharp enough to gore flesh and destroy encampments. It was the reason why there were few settlements and fewer rest-stations out in the open. Impervious to light attacks, the _Rardao_ can stampede any opposition in their path. A stygian nightmare for passing merchants, too parsimonious to afford protection, explorers with more courage than wisdom, and weary Overworld soldiers who wish they were somewhere else.

Dour thoughts surface the Overworld lieutenant's mind, mulling over this new complication. It was only just a day earlier that she was chosen for this mission. Like many, she herself witnessed the casting star fall from the heavens, its tail of fire carving a path that left the nearby stars recoiled from its dreaded luminescence. From the endless chasm that is the Passage, she and Zalic stood awestruck, the contour of the entrance to their hated enemy briefly skim from its light, ousting the light from the torches set on every alcove.

As soon it passed by, it ended. Both heed no mind to what it entails. Another omen from the heavens. Good or bad? It did not matter to her. Wars still ravage the land, crops withering to the point that nothing can be salvaged, the people craving for an insouciant deity to heed their pleas, but in the end, no answer, just silence while the world destroys itself around them.

A day later, a message burst through the command tower, carrying a message that bears the mark of Maxxor. As soon as she read its contents, she sprinted off, leaving off a bedazzled friend that had no time to question what was in it. She answered his summons, appearing before his chamber hours later. Her lungs balloon in and out as they desperately recuperated lost air. Muscles raw and aching, indolence setting in on her mind, but she forbore herself until she was called out.

Greetings were exchanged, clasp arms meeting each other in amity, but Maxxor fervently got straight to the point, not one with idle chit-chat. Gone was the jovial tenderness of his personality, chiseled with the sternness of the warrior. By the time that refreshments were ordered, she was warned of what had transpired during the night. While she slumbered away, the Forest of Life burn. Maxxor reiterated reports from the few scouts that were nearby, speaking of the devastation that accosts the virgin forest. The hackles of her fur stood erect as he recalled what Najarin divulged to him. If there was any skepticism left in her when dealing with sorcery, she would not have believed it came from the brave leader sitting across from her. Yet, considering the information that was obtained by one of the oldest and inscrutable creatures that can weave reality with fickle hands, it burned away any remains of it when she accepted the mission.

After completing her next course of action, she opened a brown pouch on her left side, spooning up a few coins, a jumble of silver and gold, the mark of the Maxxor Family incise on both. The clinking of coins resounded from the impact on the table, but barely put a dent in the raucous chorus around them. Passing by drunken vagrants with her apprentice tethering behind, leisurely following but conscious of her training.

But before she had the chance to exit, the entrance door burst open, revealing a familiar figure blocking the path. Pillars of light sprinkled all around from the broadness of the individual's shoulders. Flaxen fur covered sinews of muscles, impulsive vitality wafted off from exposure from the stifling sun outside. Bovine hooves thundered towards her before ceasing to a stop, the gargantuan creature's horns atop its head shining from the fires.

"Intress, we've a problem." The words were coarse and hard as oak wood, slamming the fragile phlegm in her mind. The aromas from the bar whilst away, instead replaced by the vile fetor from the creature in front of her. The armor garbled around his torso heaved tightly, as if struggling to escapes from it bonds of imprisonment.

"Arias, what is it? Why aren't you guarding the _Valgusvihku_?" Intress questioned. Besides her apprentice when it comes to commanding, Arias was her second in command. Chosen for his superior physique and reputation in combat, but with it, his hubris and bashfulness, his pompous drenching off ever since the mission began. The barvado around him only a shield that shrouds the truthfulness of his character. Behind the haughty eyes show a noble man who sees a cause worth fighting for; a proud man who faced death and survived, trumphing against the many that accosted his road to achievement.

Regardless of his least-pleasurable qualities that crystallized around his personality, the air of seriousness that cut across his countenance permitted none of the frivolity.

"One of the herders from the outlying farms came running into town, spouting about a group of UnderWorlders heading towards Pourile Forest." Arias snorted derisively,repugnance pouring from his words in pure disdain. The mere mention of their hated enemy send a tailspin into Interess's mind. A low growl emanating from her throat emphasizing her discomfort that they weren't the only ones searching for the falling star.

Sure, when the burning star appeared over the skies, it was only a matter of time before someone would come combing the ends of the earth for it. But this quick? and already in OverWorld territory? Something doesn't quite add up.

A soothing hand sheathe in armor perch on her right shoulder, relieving herself of her agriation from this new revelation. A ghost of a smile pulsed through her lips. In spite of how much she witnessed and endured, her apprentice proved to be an equipoise to her caustic personality. Whether she sees strangers with blooding suspect, awaiting to reveal their allegiance, and keeping most of those she considered to be friends at arm's length, Aivenna demonstrate to be the opposite. The roseate ideas of civility and knighthood encompass her every step, every action considered in the name of her adopted home. Whereas Intress can be silence to the point of taciturn, choosing action over words, Aivenna can be loquacious to others, whether friend or stranger; she can be very voluble unlike the harsh acerbic elocution of her mistress. Unlike the tigress, Aivenna wasn't fettered by the harsh lessons that her betters brave against, the idealism coursing through her thoughts, unaware of paths best left untrek lest she suffers the same mistakes Intress had taken.

But the woman wasn't naive like the other single-minded fools who traipsed the same path to glory. Behind the shining buoyant personally was the heart of a warrior, a brimming reflection of her mistress' teachings and tendering. The battle scars occluding under her ivory proved testmental, vindicating that the purports of idealism clash with the discordant chaos of the world around them.

Giving a muted appreciation with a simple motion of her touched shoulder, she curved her attention back towards Arias, his animalistic traits basking from the blazing sun outside.

"Aivenna, gather everyone at the transport. We are leaving now. Arias, I want you to inform both Looma and Attacat to scout out ahead of the convoy. If there's a single trace of anyone other than OverWorlders, they're to report back straightaway. No engagement until I say so."

Both convey her orders, one giving a obeying satule, a ramod rapple of her chest from her right hand, the latter exuding a sharp, frivolous snort of confirmation before departing, leaving behind their lone leader to dawdled and contemplated.

Thoughts danced through her taxing mind. Reassurance, fears, and contingency tickle her psyche, serging against her mental fortitude as the weight of it all splash against her. The concurring jollification behind her lost whatever relevantance it had to her, even if it had any to begin with. Straightening her mind and refocusing her priorities, she stepped out, away from the pulsing, spirited fete from behind.

But the shadow of ill-doubt and timorous pall still stalked her path. Sublime and frighten in its execution, it leaked itself into her subconscious. Ever since the day that she had been befallen with the recantation of what Najarin's visions held, descriptions of the perils that had struck his mind with petrify terror, hound her with tempestuous wrath upon her every waking moment.

Whatever the outcome of this venture, brought about by the damning words from Najarin, it'd would prove to be one of the most arduous, a formidable journey since the five day siege of the Passage. Though her capacious years of service, Intress had come across many things in her travels, some that'd leave a lesser being splintered into a jittering mess, but the fearful words spur by Najarin hurtled upwards to the forefront of her mind, reminding her that there is still secrets out there best left unburied.

A tall, terrifying creature of ineffable might, wrought into virescent armor that can sloughed even the most devastating attacks, trailing each confrontation that results in ichor gushing the ground. Each description of its exotic capabilities endow her with perturbation, a feeling that made her claws unsheathed to phandom dangers that didn't exist, senses that she rely on going into overdrive, perceiving amidst the concurrence of drunken fools for the dull, scaping of knives.

Curtailing any further introspection, Intress set aside the suspicions and inquiries that her mind can't not answer. It won't be until the very source of her inquest and Najarin's fears that her eyes can see, fulfilling what she was set out to do.

In the rare instance of negligence on her part, she didn't spot the lone pair of slithering eyes peering from a tiny alcove near the back of the Inn, indiscernible to many but easyble for the figure to perch when observing what is transpiring all around, especially the lone huntress.

With a slight ruffle under the table, the lone figure put out an incandescent crystal, brimming with mugical energy. A quick succession of jagged taps from his serrated fingers caused the fervid crystal to spark with power, dousing the shadows nearby to be exnqiushed. The end result broadcasting a Feminine countenance that was awash in a myriad of colors, an after effect from the mugical essence used in communication, but it did not dissuade the iniquitous scowl that is toggle on her lips.

Horns of a demonic heritage protruding from her glaucous forehead. With the exception of the expression marked on her lips, her face was vacuous, but her eyes tell a different story. Acute irises shine deeply like burning coals, damnation scratch within. Behind those damnable eyes, a whirlwind of chaos and degeneracy swirl around her mind, a savage and butish one that leaves no one for pleas or clemency. Beyond her baleful facade, she was a woman to be feared, shunned by the most civilized sapient in the other tribes, but is celebrated by Underworlders under Chaor's rule. A disgusting echo of the depravities condrone under the name of her lord, she reserves no empathy nor offers mercy for those cross her in her path of savage garficiation.

What felt like an eternity for the spy under that gaze, it only took a second for the she-demon to respond.

"Report."

A single word, but the sprinkle of inflection choking it spur the resurgence of fear into the informant's spine, carrying it into the fuggy milieu of the tavern. Gathering the newly shamble remains of his bravery, the reptilian began to divulge what he knows, conceding to the growing, devilish smile as he relayed everything he knows.


End file.
